


Timor et Desiderium

by Domimagetrix



Series: Razwan Bahir, World Guardian [8]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Adult Language, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood, Manipulative Relationship, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching (Initially), Nudity, Power Play, Reference to Sliske's Endgame and Divergence from Canon, Semi-Attempt at Drowning, Significant Age Gap, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, mild strangulation, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 10:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12792762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domimagetrix/pseuds/Domimagetrix
Summary: Razwan makes a stand against killing at the behest of others. Training doesn't abate, however... nor does her ability to make questionable decisions.





	Timor et Desiderium

_It's my own design  
_ _It's my own remorse  
_ _Help me to decide  
_ _Help make the most of freedom and of pleasure  
_ _Nothing ever lasts forever_

Tears for Fears - “Everybody Wants to Rule the World”

 

_Sliske looked haunted. Angry. Tired._

_More so than anything else, however, he looked relieved. His cruelly beautiful eyes were no longer narrowed with weight concealed beneath artifice. Unburdened of immediate machinations, looked… free._

_No matter that the Mahjarrat lay on the flat stones of the chamber floor, dark gray blood saturating the shoulder of his robe and his weight resting partially on a forearm, he’d never worn an expression so uncontrived._

_He looked hurt. He also looked - for the first time I could recall - fathomable._

_The Staff lay between us. The end nearest him was streaked the same dark gray as the ruined strap that once connected his robe’s shoulder to the belt. Blood darkened as it dried on both, the latter pasted flat to the Mahjarrat’s shoulder._

_The other end of the artifact was black with a mixture of dim lighting and my own blood. Both of us had struggled to push the ancient thing deeper into each other, our years-long existence as complicated adversaries condensed into a single, purely physical struggle that left the pair of us damaged and bleeding. The Staff itself looked dormant and inoffensive now, a neutral object somehow finding itself painted by a war for which it cared not at all._

_With a hand pressed to the wound in my gut I stumbled to him, landing hard on my knees and wheezing in pain. My free hand went to his shoulder, the gray, coagulating blood cold against my palm as I shifted the material carefully and appraised his wound. Sliske stared up at me with a face bare of the old, playful smile._

_He looked almost unfamiliar without it._

_His voice was soft. “It appears I can’t divest myself of you, pet. I can’t kill you and you won’t kill me. What stayed your hand this time?”_

_I tore some of the cleanest fabric from my robe and stuffed it beneath the too-clingy fabric of his to staunch the bleeding. “If I kill you, it will be my decision. Not yours. I’m done being a gladiator, a mercenary for hire, and an anima-damned slayer. I’ll kill you when I’m good and ready. And when I’m sure.”_

_He lifted the hand of his injured arm and grabbed a handful of my hair, drawing me closer. “Sure of what, World Guar-”_

_I batted his hand away and his grip in my hair loosened. “Fuck off with that, Sliske. And stop moving your arm; I don’t have enough usable fabric left on this robe to keep that shoulder from bleeding freely. Nobody’s nearby to appreciate all your empty gestures.”_

_The swat reminded me of my own wound and I pressed it harder, inhaling through my teeth in a frustrated, whiny hiss. I tucked the ball of material back into place against his shoulder and curled forward, forehead against his neck, breathing shallow and focus wavering._

_He ignored my admonition, the same arm curling against my back and pulling me in again. My wound complained bitterly and I answered it with another miserable hiss._

_“Tell me.” The arm insisted and I half-collapsed against his chest. “I once explored every recess in that mind of yours, yet the answer escapes me as much now as it did then.”_

_Swallowing and struggling not to vomit, I curled tighter into the pain. “The masks. I found them.”_

_His laugh - or snort - warmed my hair. “There are masks everywhere and on everyone, little pet. Even you. They signify only what the wearer wishes to announce.”_

_His fingers sluiced through my hair again and the comfort I drew from it sickened. Mentally chiding myself, his evasion didn’t go ignored. “You told me Mahjarrat don’t love.”_

_The fingers paused mid-stroke. “I told you nothing of the sort. My words were, ‘A Mahjarrat? In love? I almost wish it were true.’ I told you that it would make the world more interesting.”_  
_  
Pain made it difficult to focus and the cold seeping in from the flagstones below worked more diligently than the small heat offered by Sliske’s body. I shivered and my voice shook. “Same… same fucking thing. And I don’t care. I don’t love you, either.”_

_For a change, I couldn’t tell if I was speaking the truth._

_I felt his lips move as he spoke into my hair. He whispered, and the sound held more of his old self._

_The master manipulator. The gamesman extraordinaire. The prestidigitator whose fingers stirred trouble wherever they performed._

_I almost missed his words as Zamorak shouted my name across the chamber, but proximity made them clear beneath the god’s alarm._

_“One of us is a liar.”_

 

_…………_

 

 _Streets be watchin’, you’ve met your match  
_ _I’ve got a shitty attitude, and I’m brewin’ up ya catch  
_ _I’m steady talkin’ shit  
_ _Every chance that I get  
_ _And I’ll be rockin’ with the bass ‘til the day of my death_

Rusty K featuring Kryptomedic - “Prototype”

 

A swing and a hit.

Another.

I ducked Quen’s staff and spun the pesh kabz into a reverse-hold, aiming for the juicy promise of victory along the upper inside edge of his thigh. It gently indented the black cotton covering and I looked up in satisfaction. “Femoral artery. Bleedout occurs within minutes. You’re dead.”

A tap against my neck surprised me. One of the sharp protrusions rested there, edge threatening enough to warn without breaking skin.

_Fuck._

“Spell destabilizes the tissues covering your carotid as well as the artery itself. Depending on the strength and angle, possibly a fissure deep enough to impede vocalizing. You haven’t time to call a protective curse and minimize or deflect the damage. You’re dead.”

The pressure against my neck disappeared and I stood, drawing the pesh away and spinning it back into a standard hold. It slid smoothly into the belt sheath despite the soft, scimitar-like curvature of the blade.

I snarled down at the sand. “I took you with me.”

“Perhaps.” He stood his staff butt-down in the sand and swiped at the beads of sweat accumulating in his brows. “But your aim is to take your opponent down and _live_ to enjoy the success.”

Sweat trickled beneath my braid uncomfortably and soured my tone as I looked up. “This isn’t necessary.”

Sans scarf, I was treated to the full expression that accompanied his derisive tone. “It _is_ necessary. You have collected weapons over the course of your years. None are decorative or ceremonial, and you will not disrespect their utility by remaining ignorant of how each is employed in combat.” He pointed to the sheath at my side. “Doubly so those native to your region.”

I pointed at the staff that’d served him as a spear while sparring. “Bigger weapon. Give me scimitars and I can keep you off me.”

His chuckle was dry and warm. “Nothing keeps me off you if you wish me to be there.” He sobered and pointed to the other side of my belt. “That defender raised in a block would’ve been adequate. You will learn to use it and develop some understanding of defense. A tutelary who doesn’t preserve herself cannot stand in defense of anyone else.”

I looked down at the defender stowed in a second, smaller sheath and sighed tiredly. “I do remember it. Sometimes.”

“Inadequate.”

“You’re giving me inadequacy issues.” I brushed at sweat tickling temple.

Quen wasn’t amused, but the resignation in his voice held as much promise of escape. “Enough for today. Go swim until you’ve collected yourself. Drown that attitude while you’re at it.”

_Asshole. You’re the one who insisted we come out here and reassert how “inadequate” I am._

The temptation presented by cool, clean water muted my mental complaint, however. I rested a hand against Quen’s chest and stroked with a thumb before letting it drop to my side. Luminous blue eyes crinkled in mixed exasperation and affection, and I winked at him before turning away.

“Razwan.”

_Ugh. Can’t you stop for a fucking minute-_

I hadn’t heard footsteps, but an arm wound around my front and pressed me to the chest I’d touched a moment ago. Teeth nipped at my ear and I yowled in surprise.

“I didn’t cut practice short altruistically. The promise still stands - you _will_ be exercised in full before nightfall.”

 _Good. Less of this, more of_ that _kind of workout. At least it’s something we both enjoy._

I squirmed a little and the arm fell away, a dry husk of a laugh following me as I half-trotted toward the house portal and the pool.

For all he was a menace on the battlefield, Nomad delivered on the post-combat rewards.

He delivered on all his promises, really.

I smirked and sped up.

 

……….

 

 _Somebody save your soul 'cause you've been sinning in this city, I know  
_ _Too many troubles, all these lovers got you losing control  
_ _You're like a drug to me, a luxury, my sugar and gold  
_ _I want your sex and your affection when they're holdin' you close_

Fitz and the Tantrums - “HandClap”

 

The pool at the center of our subterranean garden was a Menaphite marble-lined beauty in keeping with Crondis’s own hanging gardens, fern and ivy tendrils drooping from recessed areas in the walls to the water below. The pool staged from shallow around its edges to deep at its center, the water graduating from almost-clear to a vivid turquoise with each step.

I shared the water with hummingfish - thin golden creatures with iridescent fins buzzing deeply as they rose above the water, hovered and flew like bees, and dipped below the surface again. Light offered by a few selectively-placed, bioluminescent mushrooms and diffused sunlight from holes above kept the plants thriving. They also kept the chamber itself from being cast entirely in gloom.

My clothing sat in a lump on the edge of the first step and I swam nude. Though suits for swimming sat stored in a basket near the stairwell, I had neither the desire nor the energy to bother with them. Braid undone, I plunged beneath the water and felt along the marble floor in a slow glide.

My hand encountered a foot and fabric and I curled away, scream muted to a torrent of bubbles in the water. I planted my feet and surfaced.

The upper half of Sliske, still in his robe and grinning with amusement, greeted me.

I swept back a tangle of black hair and glared at him. _“Gooreto gom kon.”_

His grin widened, stretching the lighter gray markings bracketing his nose and mouth. “Your native language is lovely. Given every conversation we’ve had in the past, however, I can safely assume that welcome was neither warm nor intended to convey your fondness for me.”

My hand surfaced and presented him with the finger of which I was most fond.

His laugh rippled the water, wet-dark edges of his robe waving lazily. “Now, pet, I do know what _that_ little gesture signifies.” An arm shot from the water, sleeve clinging like a second skin, and the hand attached to it snatched a handful of my hair.

Sliske dragged me forward and ignored my outraged yelp. “Considerate of you to strip down and save us both time, hmmm?” He ignored my scrabbling at his arm, and hummingfish both above and below the water darted away from us in alarm.

“It wasn’t a fucking offer!” I swung a fist at his chest and it landed.

Sliske’s bow was exaggerated, expression too surprised and his voice contorted into a melodramatic wheeze. “Oh, Razwan, you still know how to pack a punch-”

His hand lifted from my hair and he made as if to center it where I’d hit him, but a thin cascade of water preceded its abrupt course change and he backhanded me. My feet lost contact with the marble below and water enveloped my face.

His hand wasn’t finished. It plunged into the water after me, covering the lower half of my face and holding me just shy of the surface. He’d stepped in and followed me as I fell, body situated between my legs.

Through the water I saw his distorted features swirl, reform, and swirl again. I clawed at the metal on his robe for purchase but couldn’t maneuver myself free.

I panicked. My lungs burned and Sliske’s hand refused my attempts to surface.

I opened my mouth and bit the hand.

Following its rapid retreat brought me to air and I dragged it in with an angry wheeze, spitting the sweetly tart taste of Sliske’s blood from my mouth. Snarling, I gripped a section of his robe and hauled myself up, other hand finding his throat and fingers constricting around it so much as I could.

He hadn’t anticipated it and he lost his footing, submerging briefly with me clinging to and cursing at him. He righted us and crouched until the water was level with my shoulders.

Sliske stilled then, tilting his head up. He made no effort to remove my hand from his neck or me from him. His eyes were closed and the hood slumped wetly back to reveal the dual ridgelines hidden beneath.

His breathing was too rapid. One of his arms went around my back and clawed fingertips slid gently down my spine.

He was enjoying it.

I was half-choking him and Sliske was _turned on._

I relaxed my fingers and stared at him, incredulous.

He opened his eyes and looked back down at me again, amber rings half-swallowed by dilated pupils. He sounded mildly intoxicated. “Don’t stop now, Razwan. You were finally doing something interesting.”

_You almost brought my night and the rest of my life to a screaming halt you fucking misbegotten lunatic-_

It hit me.

Not a hand to my throat or bunched in my hair. He’d put his hand over my mouth knowing I’d bite him. Sliske had done what he always did - produced a puzzle and offered a solution.

I hadn’t been in any real danger. Well, I might’ve been in danger had panic prevented the realization, but it hadn’t been a mere attempt to kill me.

_Always. Always games with you._

What the hell did _this_ prove?

I slid my hand back to get leverage on his neck and pulled him to me, fingers finding and gripping the thinner ridges below his skull. My gaze trained on his. “Next time, just fucking ask.”

I kissed him. He didn’t stop me.

Fingertips became a flat-handed pressure on my back and I ground into Sliske, increasingly resentful of the waterlogged robe separating us. I pulled from the kiss and nosed his jaw until he looked away, darting in and biting the light gray-tinged edge of his ear.

Sliske hissed and his claws dug into my back. I released the ear and he turned his head and sank his teeth into my neck.

I belted out an angry noise that trailed off in a moan and Sliske snarled back, his hands sliding down and gripping the outsides of my thighs. His hips jerked and I whined as he withdrew his teeth with a satisfied chuckle.

“Your robe’s in the way. Get it off.” My hand slid from the back of his neck and I tugged at either side of the front illustratively.

His hands left and he drew back, reaching for the places where I’d tugged and pausing, grinning. I backed away to give him space enough to disrobe.

He didn’t. Instead, he chuckled and canted his head slightly, eyeing the bite on my neck. “You know, I believe we’ll do this some other time, pet. You’ve an appointment with Nomad after this, don’t you? Far be it for me to upset your plans! It would be… oh, simply _thoughtless_ of me to leave him in a state of expectation while you go satisfied.” He winked.

I was robbed of words.

_You… you anima-fucked snake…_

Sliske lifted a hand and ticked his finger back and forth, mimicking my own oft-used gesture. “Don’t be greedy, pet. I’ve made Nomad’s job with you less arduous. Why, you look positively _desperate._ No doubt he’ll appreciate what I’ve managed thus far when he indulges himself with you.”

Blood seeped from the bite on my neck and the wound throbbed with my pulse. Previously startled hummingfish began to close in again, a few daring souls darting between us.

Neither of us paid them any mind.

Sliske stretched his arms to either side and shadows began to coalesce around him, even the water dripping from his sleeves taking on an umbral cast. His eyes - the irises still thin and somehow brighter for it - matched the grin slowly being lost to the build of darkness that would teleport him from this plane.

“Neither of you need thank me, pet. Until next time.”

I tried to shoot forward but it was too late. He was enveloped fully by nimble fingers of darkness and reclaimed by the Shadow Realm before I could reach him.

With no Sliske left to displace it, water rushed into the space he’d occupied with an absurdly comedic _slurp_ of sound, a little of it lifting to the air and dropping before settling into dispersing ripples.

_He… did he just…?_

I wanted to scream.

He knew. He _knew_ there would be questions when I returned to the tent Quen and I shared. The bite, the fact that I _hadn’t…_ and that I _still wanted..._

Blood trickled from the bite to the water and bloomed in lurid little clouds before dissipating. A hummingfish buzzed in front of me before veering away.

_I’m going to fucking kill Sliske._


End file.
